The Night of the Maze Master
by mudstalker
Summary: A man from Artie's past keeps a deadly promise he made to Artie ten years earlier. Based on the TV show.


The Night Of the Maze Master

"Well, another case solved," Jim grinned as he rose his glass of wine in a mock toast.

Artie grinned and joined in the toast, surveying the restaurant as he did so. "Springside, Utah. Nice, quiet place. Who'd have ever thought we'd get a Loveless scare here?"

"Well, I doubt the circus will come here again. We'll have to be careful about what our wanted posters say from now on. Loveless would _never _join a circus."

"He'd die first," Artie agreed as he dug into his mashed potatoes. "Who sent us that alert anyway?"

"It was anonymous," Jim replied. "I wouldn't put it past Loveless to try and collect a ransom on himself, but nothing felt right about this case. It lacked the Loveless flair."

Artie laughed in agreement. There was no doubt that this town was Loveless free, but something was still bothering Artemus. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about this place seemed familiar. Artie was just about to shrug off the feeling and finish his dinner when a small boy came running up to their table.

"Message for you sir," the boy stated.

"Artie, tip the boy would you?" Jim said in his superior tone as he grabbed the message. Artemus growled good-naturedly and pulled out a nickel. "Wow!" the boy cried happily. "Thanks!" He ran off, and Artie looked over at Jim. "So, what's the note say?"

Jim looked up at Artie in confusion. "I don't know. It's gibberish to me."

"Well, maybe the boy got the wrong table. What's it say?"

"It says," Jim read, "At the sun's death I will ride again. Beware the Maze Master. Huh, that's strange. Does it make any sense to you...Artie?"

Artie looked as though he had just seen a ghost. He had gone several shades paler, and his eyes held a haunted look. "Of course, Springside Mississippi," Artie murmured. "The name sounded right, just the state was wrong."

Jim gave Artie his best 'what are you talking about' look and said, "So, Artie, anything that I should know?"

"The Maze Master...oh no, I thought he'd never come back! He couldn't!" Artie turned a puzzled face towards Jim. "Could he?"

Jim sighed. "Artie, I don't know what you're talking about. Let's start from the beginning. Just who is the Maze Master?"

Artie looked at Jim dazedly. "The Maze Master is a character, Jim." Artie glanced around again, and when he was satisfied no one was watching he leaned in closer. "When I was twenty or so, I joined a showboat. We did shows along the Mississippi river, a show in every port. There was one play in particular that people were very fond of, and so we kept performing it over and over. The play was based off of an old European legend about a Baron who murdered a young man that was secretly courting his fiancée. The Baron buried this young man's body in the middle of a maze, but the Baron's fiancée kept seeing his ghost. Well, the ghost led her into the maze so that she could discover his body and set his spirit free, but the Baron followed her in. As soon as she reached the center, the Baron leapt out in a jealous rage to slay her. However, her ghostly lover stepped in to defend her and the ghost slew the Baron in a magnificent swordfight. The ghost's spirit was freed, the woman married well, and the Baron was doomed to haunt his maze for eternity, never finding his way out. I know, it sounds pretty morbid. But it was a very popular show and we performed it on Thursday nights."

"This is all well and good, Artie," Jim stated impatiently. "But what does this have to do with this note?"

"Well, you see, I played the part of the Baron. They always had me play bad guys; must have been my smooth voice and my refined decorum. Well, the war was just starting up and I decided to go in for the North, and so I had to train a new actor for the part. The boy who took my place was brilliant. Not as varied in talents as yours truly, but brilliant just the same. You see, to play a person accurately you have to become that person. We nicknamed the character of the Baron the 'Maze Master' and had the boy try out the role for size. He adopted the name of Maze Master and wouldn't let us call him by anything else. Well, after a few days I began to get worried. You see, my apprentice had adopted this personality for his own and would never come out of character, night or day. He would talk like the Maze Master, walk like the Maze Master, and even sleep with a sword by his side like the Maze Master would. He _never_ stopped. After about a month, he forgot what his real name was. I didn't see how bad it had gotten (after all, I was getting ready to go to war), but one day we were practicing our fighting and I realized a little too late that he hadn't capped his foil. He cut me right across the arm; that's why I have a scar there. I tried to get him to stop fighting me, but he kept attacking me with all the vigor he had. He _had become _the Maze Master, and he wasn't about to let me get away."

"So what did you do?" asked Jim curiously.

"We were in Springside Mississippi. In Springside the docks are really old and warped. I backed him off onto one of the docks and threw my sword at the piling. It was splintered already, and the poor boy fell right into the water. I got away and told the captain all that had occurred. The captain was furious and so he fired the 'Maze Master.' That poor kid was thrown off the boat as it left the port. But I remember that boy just standing on those rotted docks screaming out to me "I'll get you for this, Artemus! One day I'll face you again. There can only be one Maze Master!"

Jim frowned thoughtfully. "So, do you think this is our note writer?"

Artie shrugged, most of his thoughts elsewhere. "I don't know who else it would be."

"Alright," Jim said, "let's get out of here before we meet this Maze Master."

Artie rose and shuffled towards the door, his haunted look making several patrons of the restaurant turn around inquiringly. The agents stepped out the door and headed down the street to where their horses were boarded. The sun was low in the sky, and the late rays were painting a dying orange on the clouds. "The dying of the sun," whispered Artie as they stepped into the dark stable. "The dying of the sun...Jim! WATCH OUT!" Jim didn't even have time to duck as a caped and masked man lunged out at him. Jim fell to the floor, and Artie felt the cold metal of a sword hilt crashing down on his head. Then, he knew no more.

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Artie woke up with the rising sun in his eyes and roaring in his ears. He was lying on his side next to a river, where no other soul was in sight. Feeling woozy, he sat up and shut his eyes. After a few moments of deep breathing, he felt good enough to open his eyes again. There was no one in any direction. Behind him was a swift flowing river that quickly fell away into a magnificent waterfall (hence the roaring in the ears), and in front of him was the biggest canyon Artie had ever seen. The walls of the canyon were sandstone and were smooth as glass, offering no possible way of climbing out. Beside Artie was a pile of rocks with a bit of blue cloth sticking out from under them. Artie looked at the rocks in confusion; something was buried under them. Quickly, Artie shoved the rocks away and found a note, along with Jim's blue jacket.

_"Good morning, Artemus," the note began. "As you can see, I have left you your friend's jacket to prove that I have your partner James West. Do you know he tried to escape twice already?! I took the liberty of taking his weapons (especially the ones in the boots) and yours as well. To play my game, you need to play by my rules._

_I was hoping to have our final duel on the docks of Springside Mississippi, but unfortunately the town burned down in the war, so I pray your indulgence as I have relocated our play to the equally harsh lands near Springside Utah. It was far easier than I imagined, bringing you out here. In fact, you were just asking for capture when you sent out the wanted posters of this absurd criminal Loveless. I knew you'd come if someone contacted you about him, so I sent in my letter anonymously. Pity you didn't have the intelligence to remember that an innocent man has nothing to hide and always signs his real name. Now, my dear Artemus, to the rules of our game!_

_Behind you is a raging waterfall, and before you is a huge canyon. You are in a place called Mary's Hollow. Mary's Hollow is the beginning of Mystery Canyon. My home is at the end of Mystery Canyon. I will give you three days to reach my house at the end of the canyon. Three days is truly a generous amount of time, I have no doubt that you'll be able to make it. But remember this, Artemus, you must reach my house by six o'clock on the third day. If you don't reach the house, I will assume that you either are dead or have abandoned your partner and I shall dispose of him in the way I feel is proper._

_The canyon is dangerous, Artemus, and the time is ticking away. A coward would run away at this point; there is a path down past the waterfall that leads to the fair city of Springside. But I know you Artemus, and you are no coward. You are an honorable man, and honor your promises. I hope you can appreciate how I too honored my promise I made to you so long ago._

_Sincerely,_

_The Maze Master_

Artie finished reading the letter, and then he folded it up carefully and put it into his brown vest pocket. Quickly, Artie checked to see if any of his or Jim's weapons remained, but to his dismay the Maze Master had been exceedingly thorough. Finding nothing that could be of use, Artie looked around, getting his bearings. The sun towards him as he faced the waterfall, so it set in the direction that he needed to go. "I have made my house in the dying of the sun, where the red gleams of its rays surrender to the cool embrace of the evening," Artie muttered, remembering his lines from long ago. Time to fulfill his part of the play, the rescuer. "For once I'm the good guy!" he thought amusedly as he began his trek up the narrow canyon.

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Jim woke up with a huge headache where he had been hit with the handle of a sword. He blinked a few times to get the stars away, and then he surveyed his surroundings. He was in cage hanging from the ceiling. The bars were closely spaced and made out of iron. He was sitting on the cage floor with his hands and legs bound, and an extra chain clamped around his neck chaining him to the floor of the cage. Jim sighed with frustration and looked out at the rest of the room. He was on a covered porch of some kind; a veranda, perhaps, that overlooked the deepest canyon Jim had ever seen. Under the balcony that connected to the floor of the veranda was a giant waterfall that spilled into the canyon at a speed that rivaled his train.

"An impressive house," Jim stated as he heard footsteps approach. "Tell me, how'd you get the stone for the balcony up that waterfall?"

"Some things must remain secret, for there are no ways to describe how they came about," said the Maze Master mysteriously.

Jim sighed. Not another bad guy who spoke in riddles. This particular bad guy had no goons about, Jim noticed. That was always a bad sign; men who didn't need accomplices to wait on them hand and foot were always the most dangerous. Jim smiled his most charming smile as the Maze Master walked up to the cage.

"So, isn't this a bit excessive?" he asked in a devil-may-care tone of voice.

"If you mean all the ropes and chains, I think not, Mr. West. I have my sources that tell me your talent for escaping rivals even the worlds most famous magicians." The Maze Master stepped out towards the balcony, and Jim got a clear view of the man. He was tall and gaunt, with sandy blonde hair and remarkably green eyes. He was dressed all in black but wore a red sash that held his sword hilt. His face (unmasked now) was very young and boyish looking, though Jim guessed it had to be at least ten years since Artie had seen the boy. The Maze Master leaned easily on the balcony and peered out into the sky.

"What are you looking for?" Jim asked.

"My avenger," replied the Maze Master.

Jim sighed. "Look, Maze Master...if that's what your called?"

The Maze Master nodded slowly. "I am called by no other name," he replied.

"Well," Jim continued, "if your going to answer my questions, why don't you just come right out and say it."

"If I did," the Maze Master laughed wryly, "where would be the beauty in poetry? Besides, my avenger deserves a better introduction than plain words can offer."

"I thought you were your own avenger," Jim scowled.

"I am," he replied, "but your friend is worthy of a hero's quest. What would be the fun in the play if we didn't get to see the hero suffer?"

"I see you point," Jim said after a moment, not quite comprehending the position Artie was in. Was he in this house somewhere? Or was he being held in a different place down in the city. Jim was just about to ask his captor when a huge peal of thunder crackled.

"My avenger has come!" cried the Maze Master triumphantly. "Let's see if your friend can survive this!"

Suddenly, with a cold and sinking feeling, Jim realized where Artie was. "He's in the canyon, isn't he?" Jim asked.

"Yes, and when the rain comes down, the river flash floods and...our first test for our hero."

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Artie was not liking the look of the clouds that hung over him. The morning had been clear enough, but the warm afternoon weather had brought with it huge thunderheads. Artie had hiked up the river (most of the time hiking in the water itself because there was no land in the narrow canyon) for miles, and still all he found were more bends and smoother cliffs. Quickly, he hurried on, knowing that if it started to rain he might as well just lay down and wait for the water to take him. Around the next bend, no high ground there, around the next bend. On and on he ran, the mantra of 'around the next bend' beating in his head like a drum. And then, to make matters worse, it started to rain.

It didn't just rain, it poured. One moment it was merely cloudy, the next moment it was like walking through walls of water. Artie looked around for shelter, panic rising in his heart, and suddenly he found a cleft in the cliffs. "That'll have to do," he said as he ran towards the rock. The cleft was protected by a huge rock that faced up river, protecting Artie if he hid behind it. Quickly, he squeezed as much of his body as possible into the cleft. And it was not a moment too soon, for as soon as Artie was jammed into the wall the canyon roared angrily and a wave of stick-filled muddy brown water came crashing down the river way.

WHOOSH! Water was everywhere. Sticks and branches pelted him mercilessly, and the river had swollen way up over his head. Dazedly, Artie wondered if he had made a mistake to lodge himself into the canyon wall, but he realized that if he had gotten swept away he probably would have been cut to pieces on the rocks below. There was nothing he could do but grit his teeth against the blows and hold his breath until the flash flood of water subsided. It was getting hard to think, and Artie realized that he couldn't hold his breath as long as he thought he'd be able to. "Sorry, Jim," was the last thought he had before darkness once again took him.

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Jim looked out as the rain ebbed, feeling an immense sense of relief that the storm had only lasted a few minutes. "Still," he thought darkly, "A flash flood could have buried Artie under water." Jim's mind filled with pictures of Artie struggling for air, and he shoved them away. "Not yet," he thought. "Artie's the smart one; he'll find a way to survive. I won't allow myself to think he's dead." With that resolved, Jim shifted on the floor of his cage, trying to find a more comfortable position. Night was on its way, and Jim needed rest so he'd be ready to fight the Maze Master. Quietly, he said a prayer for his friend and waited for the sun to go down.

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The darkness was soft, warm, and scented with herbs. Artie could hear a fire cracking in the background. Artie opened his eyes and everything came in distorted and strange. "Where am I?" he croaked. "Safe," a voice answered. Artie took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head, and got a spasm of pain shooting up his lungs in return. "Ahh!" he cried in pain.

"Shhh," said the voice, "Rest now. You have been full of water. You need to get used to the air again."

Artie frowned as he tried to figure out what that meant, but then the voice began singing. It was a soft, quiet song, and it lulled Artie back to sleep.

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When Artie woke up this time, the sun shone through slats in a roof. Artie yawned comfortably; he was lying in a soft buckskin bed. "What am I doing here?" he thought dreamily. "I should be in the canyon...the canyon! Jim!" Artie blinked and quickly sat up. He winced as pain shot up his chest, but his sore lungs would just have to deal with it. Artie looked around, curious now about where he was, how he had got here, and who his healer had been. He was in a small shelter that was filled with herbs and dried foods. The shelter used one of the sandstone canyon walls as a wall, and shelves had been carved into it to hold various items. A fire burned low over by the wall, and Artie noticed his clothes were hanging over it on a rack to dry. Artie frowned and was just about to test his mobility by jumping up and grabbing them when the buckskin door to the shelter moved aside and a woman entered.

Artie had never beheld a more beautiful lady. She was tall and slender, her black hair braided down both sides and tied up in loops by a blue and yellow beaded headband. Her dress was white deerskin, and was also fringed with yellow and blue beads. "My name is Morning Rock," said the woman. "I am of the Piaute tribe. I am the keeper of the river, and the healer of my people."

Artie smiled shyly back, wondering if this was how Jim felt when he was revived by beautiful women. "I'm Artemus Gordon."

Morning Rock smiled. "Nice to meet you," she replied. "You have been playing deadly games with the river, and that is very foolish."

"Yes," Artie agreed. "It is. Where'd you learn to speak English?"

"I am the third daughter of my father, the chieftain of my tribe. He taught all his daughters how to speak the tongue of the pale face." Morning Rock smiled at Artie, handed him a bowl of gruel, and continued her dialogue. "When I was a youth, my people were starving. The rains had gone and so had all the grass and game. My father sent many brave warriors out to find water, but none found any. So, I offered to go. My people laughed at me. You see, the third daughter of a chief is not that important. But the next morning, before anyone rose, I got up and followed the song of the thrush. One had come to guide me to the water. I followed the thrush and found this river. I brought my people back to it. I was a hero, and I was allowed to choose my destiny. So, I chose the path of a healer. I went to a white man's school where I learned better English and your ways of healing. I mix them with my own people's way of healing. It gives me quite satisfying results."

Artie nodded. "I'll say it does," he agreed. But the sudden use of his voice set of a spasm of coughs, and he ended up wheezing the last part of his sentence. Morning Rock shook her head and stepped up to examine him. Artie shrunk protectively back under the covers. "I'd like my clothes first if you don't mind...I'm modest."

Morning Rock rolled her eyes. "I'm a healer, Mr. Artemus. I wasn't going to let you sleep in wet clothes all night." She walked to the rack and took the clothes off. "Here. But dress slowly; if you move too fast you will set off a coughing attack." Morning Rock then slipped out of the shelter, and Artie set about the task of getting dressed.

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"Hello, Mr. West," the Maze Master said. "Enjoy your breakfast?"

"Yes, I did," Jim replied from inside the cage. The Maze Master had let Jim out earlier (on a leash of sorts with a gun trained on him the whole time) so that he could take care of his personal needs and stretch his legs. But breakfast was served in the cage, and after the one dish had been taken away (there were no utensils), Jim resigned himself to waiting yet again for any opportunity to escape. The Maze Master was stretching and bending, obviously preparing for some sort of physical activity.

"What are you doing?" asked Jim, in an attempt to get a dialogue going.

"I'm stretching," replied the Maze Master.

"So I've observed," sighed Jim. "But what for?"

"Practice," answered the Maze Master. He then walked over to a case kept in the shelter of the veranda. He opened it up, and took out a remarkably supple saber. He wrapped his fingers around the grip and set off practicing on a series of lunges and parries. Jim swallowed nervously. The Maze Master was an exceptional swordsman. Not that Artie wasn't (he was better with a sword than with a gun), but Artie would have the strain of three days travel on him when he finally came to face this villain. "Perhaps Artie will come across some help on the way," thought Jim bleakly as he watched the Maze Master stab yet another set of invisible foes.

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"Just what are you doing, Mr. Artemus!?"

Artie cringed as he heard Morning Rock's voice bounce angrily off the sandstone walls of the canyon. As soon as he had gotten dressed, Artie had attempted to walk out the door in hopes of saying goodbye and setting off for Jim. But Morning Rock stood in front of him, her eyes blaring angrily.

"I have just pulled you from the water! You need at least a week in bed to gain your strength again, maybe even more! You idiot! If you continue to walk around with water in your lungs, you could get pneumonia! What, are you trying to kill yourself?!"

"No! No, you don't understand, Morning Rock, I have to go. And the sooner the better. You see, I have this...this mission."

"Oh. I see. And what is this mission you'd risk your very life for?"

"I have this friend...no, he's not a friend. He's more of a brother." Artie sighed, realizing that the explanation for this might just sound crazy. "He was taken, by a...by a man who hates me for something I did to him long ago. I have to find him before six o'clock tomorrow evening or he's going to kill Jim...my brother."

Morning Rock looked at Artie, her eyes softer now as she heard his explanation. "What will you do when you find the man who hates you?"

"I don't know...I want to explain myself to him, to tell him that what I did was for his own good...I want him to have peace again. But if he's touched a hair on my brother's head, there will be no where on earth that is safe for him to hide."

Morning Rock smiled. "Perhaps all white men saved are not saved in vain. You certainly weren't. But the river is dangerous, and you could get killed. You are not as strong anymore; the water already entered you once!"

Artie sighed. "I'm sorry, Morning Rock. Normally I'd love to stay here with you, but I have to find my friend before his time is up. I have to go, and the sooner the better."

"Well, if you're going to go, you'll need this."

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Artie fingered the root Morning Rock had given him. "Chew a little of this every four hours," she had said. "The juices will relax your lungs; if they get tight than you will die from lack of air. Be sure to do exactly as I say, and you may yet live through this quest, 'He Who Seeks His Brother.'"

Artie had blushed at the thought of being given an Indian name, and such a special one as that. He hoped he could live up to the name.

Again and again, Artie followed the path of the river upstream. There were deep places now; places that he had to ford, and the currents dragged roughly at him. It had been hard going before; now, it took all of Artie's will power to struggle against the current. But Artie hardly dared stop; he had lost almost a day due to the flash flood and he had no idea how far he had been washed down the river. A deep seeded fear that he may arrive too late gave him an extra boost of strength, just as the juices from the root kept him well supplied with air.

About five in the afternoon of the second day Artie came to a fork in the river. The left fork was a little wider, while the right fork was thin, narrow, and smooth like the rest of the canyon. In the center of this split was a huge pillar-like cliff. The river on the right side had cut into the river from the left side, virtually cutting the cliff off so that it stood alone like a pillar in the middle of the river. The pillar was covered in branches sticking out from the sides, and narrow sandstone steps had been cut out in it. It would be easy to climb up, and from the top Artie could get a good view of where he needed to go. "Leave it to the Maze Master to leave me something to climb on and look around," muttered Artie. "Well, Artemus my boy, as Aunt Maude used to say, 'if you can't climb then you ain't much of a boy'!" With that, Artie began his climb up the pillar.

Though he had to stop a few times to catch his breath, the climb up the cliff proved to be pretty easy. "A little too easy," thought Artie darkly as he pulled himself on top of the narrow pillar. The top of the cliff provided an excellent view for Artie, and he saw that taking the narrow right path would lead him up the canyon to a house not six miles away. "There you are James," said Artie with a smile. "I'm coming over!" Artie was just about to square his shoulders and climb back down when he heard the slow rumble of thunder. "I better stay up here until the storm clears," though Artie, relishing the fact that he was on high ground this time. "I hope there's no lightning."

Though it did rain, there was no more thunder or lightning. It basically drizzled for an hour then let up and burned away as quickly as it had come. The river barely swelled at all. Artie noticed that it would be growing dark in an hour, and he considered staying on the cliff for the night, but two things worried him enough to start on his way down. One, he needed all the time he could get for travel and the extra hour of sunset would provide enough light to travel by. Two, he didn't really want to fall asleep accidentally and fall off the narrow top. "At least, if I fall asleep in the river, I won't have to worry about falling off a cliff to my doom," he thought dryly. But most of the way down the cliff, Artie realized that he had made a major mistake.

The sandstone on tip of the cliff had soaked up the water already, and though wet, had created enough of a grip for Artie's boots. But three-fourths of the way down the pillar there was a stretch of branches which proved to be the only handholds, and those were slick with the water that had been misted on them. Artie had climbed carefully (realizing that he had no other choice) down half of them when his boots slipped and he reached scrabbling for the cliff face. His hands, wet from gripping the handholds, found no purchase on the slick wood and Artie went falling down the cliff.

Whack! Artie hit the shallow water below, and it barely broke his fall. "Ahh!" he cried in pain as he laid across the river rocks. For many minutes white-fire pain devoured him, and finally when he was able to breathe deeply again the world had gone from sunset golden to moon blue night. Artie reached out and used the water of the river to his advantage; he basically floated himself across the water to the small sandy beach that lay at the foot of the pillar-cliff. After a painful moonlit inspection, Artie determined that he'd only broken a few ribs (which nothing could be done about), badly bruised his knee and sprained his ankle. That would make for very bad travel, "But it could have been worse," Artie tiredly thought. "At least the sprain and the knee are the same leg." Silently, Artie tore his tie and vest apart and used them for immobilizing his ankle, his knee, and his rib cage. Then, exhausted from the journey and its perils, Artie welcomed in the darkness.

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Jim looked around, seeing nothing in the darkness of the night. Silently, he pulled out the metal spoon that had been his only utensil for dinner. The Maze Master had seemed distracted during dinner that evening. He kept looking over his shoulder at every shadow, and he had stayed on the balcony to watch the moon for hours. He was so distracted that he forgot to tie Jim's hands back up, and he failed to notice that Jim had stole his spoon. Finally, the Maze Master had yelled, "You're out there, I know it!," and when no answer was forthcoming, he turned on his heel and stormed out towards his room. Jim had pretended to sleep, staying still for a few hours to make sure the Maze Master had truly gone to bed. Then, Jim sat up and began to grind the end of the spoon.

The iron of the cage was rough with rust, and the spoon was made out of a soft silver. (The Maze Master had said it was proper to have guests eat with the good silver.) That would make the spoon perfect for shaping, and Jim had a lock pick in mind. His legs were also left unbound, but there was still a solid metal collar locked around his neck chaining him to the floor of the cage. Jim sighed with worry as he worked on grinding the spoon into the desired shape. Obviously the Maze Master had suspected meeting Artie tonight; the third day had been an extra day after all. Jim worried about Artie not showing, but he hoped that Artie was just outside, ready to use another ingenious disguise to sneak in and break Jim out before the Maze Master had known what hit him. Anyway, negative thoughts were unproductive, and Jim wouldn't allow himself to think anymore. "Let me just get this lock-pick finished," he thought. "Then, at least I'll have a chance to defend myself."

But daylight came quicker than Jim had hoped, and by the first light of the sun his lock-pick was only half finished. Desperately, Jim tried to pick himself free, but the point was too fragile and it broke off into the lock. Jim scowled in anger and slipped his useless spoon into the sleeve of his shirt. Then, he pulled out the silver sliver that had lodged itself into the lock. "Damn, a night's work wasted," he muttered. "Perhaps I'll have some time to try again with my spoon." But just then the doors opened, and the Maze Master came charging in. "Today is the day!" he stated, his eyes gleaming insanely. "Our play will have its climax, and I will finally have my revenge!" He sat down in a chair by the balcony, and Jim sinkingly realized that he'd have no chance to finish his lock-pick; the Maze Master didn't intend to move.

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Artie woke up half in and half out of the river. His eyes were bleary with sand, and he felt strangely numb; as if all of him hurt so much it had just put his body in shock. He looked up towards the sun, and gasped in fright. It had to be about nearing noon. "A whole morning wasted!" he moaned. "I've got to get to Jim." Groaning, he grabbed a rock and hauled himself up. His stomach, empty since the gruel at Morning Rock's, growled in protest, and Artie began to laugh. Here he was, everything on him falling apart, and his stomach was as hungry as ever. Artie sobered as he looked up the stream, the path up the river rocky and littered with two foot waterfalls everywhere. "These must be the stairs to Neptune's house," Artemus thought with amusement. Then, his whole brain geared to the effort of moving, Artie began to pick his way up the waterfalls.

Time flowed by like the water as Artie carried out the base movements 'one foot in front of the other.' More bends came after the waterfall stairs, then more stairs, then more bends. The six miles towards the house became a grueling struggle against current and consciousness, until Artie was struggling painfully to just stay awake. But still he kept on.

Finally, Artie came to a gigantic waterfall. The waterfall fell from a great height, and straddling this waterfall was the balcony to what appeared to be a house built half into the cliff. Stairs, real this time, zigzagged up the narrow wall and flowed into the balcony. Artie sighed as he looked at the flights; it would take a while to climb in good condition. The afternoon was waning away; soon it would be six, if it was not already. Artie took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. He had not come all this way to be defeated by stairs. Reaching for pure will to give him strength to fight the pain, Artie began his ascent.

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The Maze Master paced around, panicked as the afternoon waned to evening. "He should have been here. He must be here! How could he have left his friend to my mercy!"

Jim glowered at the man, knowing only too well that Artie would have been here already if he were able. The Maze Master had ceased to leave the room the entire day, except to fetch food and to allow time for Jim to attend to personal needs. Jim had spent the morning trying to communicate with the Maze Master, but had only gotten annoyingly cryptic replies in return. There came a point in time where the Maze Master said not a word to Jim, preferring to look out the window in nervous anticipation. So, Jim decided to attempt grinding the end of his spoon again. The spoon was just the right length and shape now, but Jim knew he couldn't risk trying to undo his cage door (the Maze Master hadn't put the collar on after they had gotten back from lunch) with the Maze Master in the room. Jim was just glad he was free to move; he looked forward to letting himself out when the time came. The sun was setting now, its rays catching in the clouds and tinting the world an eerie blood red. "Where are you Artie?" Jim thought to himself, fear that his friend had met more than he could handle in the canyon building up inside of him. The Maze Master turned in disgust.

"It's six o'three already!" he growled. "What can I do? I gave him a time limit; heroes have to be prompt." The Maze Master turned to Jim and glowered. "Well, at least I can keep _my_ promises. James West, prepare to die!"

"You wouldn't kill me without a fight would you? It wouldn't be honorable to skewer me right here with no way to defend myself."

The Maze Master sighed. "The Maze Master would agree with you," replied the Maze Master, "But I say I will just kill you now and be done with it!"

Jim blinked in surprise. This was the first time that the Maze Master had distinguished a difference between himself as character and actor. Jim was just to pounce on the chance that he could reach the real person when he heard a loud "thump" on the balcony. The Maze Master froze. Then Jim had a sight that made his heart jump into his throat.

Artie was standing in the doorway of the veranda, looking like death himself. The sanguine sunset turned his pale skin a fire-burned orange, and his thin frame sported tattered garments. His usually curly hair had flattened in the hot rain and lay out over his eyes, cutting his forehead off and giving him a savage glare. His eyes were narrowed and filled with rage, and a cut across his eye leaked blood out down his cheek. He had bumps and bruises all over, and he limped painfully. He stared at the Maze Master for a good long minute, while the Maze Master (oddly enough) seemed to shrink away. "Alright, you've had your fun," Artie wheezed. "It's time to let my friend go."

Jim cringed as he heard the sound of Artie's voice. He was frightened that his friend didn't even look like himself anymore, and he certainly didn't like the way he was breathing. Something had gone wrong in the canyon, and Artie had the cuts and bruises to prove it. The Maze Master also looked taken aback, but regained his composure as his nemesis limped near. "I thought you had left your friend for good," said the Maze Master. "And it's a pity that you are late; it's six o'six now!"

"I said," growled Artie as he prowled forward, "Let him go!"

The Maze Master smiled then and slunk away, reaching for the case where the swords were kept. Jim held his spoon-pick, ready at any moment to attack the lock when the Maze Master's back was turned. "Here!" shouted the Maze Master as he threw Artie a saber. "You are late; therefore your friend's blood is mine. But I'm a good sport; I'll fight you for him!"

Artie looked at the sword, then looked at the Maze Master, his eyes suddenly growing soft as he realized that this man actually and truly believed he was the Maze Master. "I thought you actually may have come around, Caleb, but I know now I'm wrong. It's not Caleb that wants revenge with me- it's the Maze Master."

The Maze Master glared at Artie in rage. "DON'T CALL ME CALEB!" he screamed. He then charged Artie, and the fight was on. "Every night I dreaded going home 'cause my drunken father waited for me (clash). "Caleb, CALEB!" he would shout and I'd get pounded when I came home (slang). So, I said to myself "where can I go where I can be safe from this man?" (clank). You see, I had no mother to protect me, for she died one night (slash). I was afraid; I ran! And I left her there with him to die!"

Every one of the last words in his speech was accented with painful blows, and suddenly Artie found himself on the tiled floor with a sword point digging painfully into his neck.

"What did you want from us?" shouted the Maze Master. "You, my mentor! For the first time, I was able to be someone strong, fierce, and brave. For the first time, I wasn't a yellow coward. I was the Maze Master; fearless in a way which I had never known. And you could see that, couldn't you? You wanted me to remain a coward! You threw me out of the play. Answer me this and I'll let you die easily; 'Why did you throw me off that Showboat?'"

All the time that the sword had been digging deeper into Artie's neck, Jim had been picking the lock to his cage. It was a very hard lock to pick; it being iron and the silver of the spoon being so soft. Jim wanted to rush the operation, but he knew that he must move slowly (agonizingly slowly) or the spoon would break off in the lock like it had done the first time he tried it. Silently, Jim twisted and picked, hoping that Artie would stall for as much time as possible. Meanwhile, Artie looked at the Maze Master and gave a sad sigh.

"I just wanted to help you; I didn't know about your father," stated Artie. "I saw that you were becoming too involved in the role, and I was afraid that you'd loose yourself if you kept acting in the role. That's why I threw you off the Showboat; I wanted you to find somewhere safe also. Somewhere where you wouldn't be haunted by the Maze Master."

"I hated myself!" spat the Maze Master. "I wanted to be someone strong, someone other than me!" The Maze Master paused, then lowered the blade from Artie's neck. Artie sighed and rubbed the spot where the blade had almost made its final mark. The Maze Master turned away then, walking nearer to Jim (who put his spoon away extremely fast) and sighed. "I suppose you did it because you didn't want anyone else to have the role. But it doesn't matter now; I'll go back and take your place. I'll be the new Maze Master."

Artie looked at the man in shock; surely he didn't think that the play was still going on?! Artie shook his head and stated, "I'm afraid that's not possible, Caleb." "Why?" asked the Maze Master sharply.

"Because," said Artie, "The play has been closed for over ten years. No one performs the play anymore; no one even knows it exists. It's over; that Showboat doesn't even run anymore. Captain Anderson was killed in the war; his boat was attacked and burned by raiders. All the scripts were burned."

The Maze Master froze, the news making him tear up in sorrow. "I had hoped..." he sighed, tears beginning to stream down his face. "Why!" he said suddenly, turning back towards Artie. "Why must all good things end?"

Artie sighed sadly. "_Everything_ ends," Artie stated. "We all die, we are all buried, and in the end we are all forgotten by the inhabitants here on Earth. Likewise, the play is dead. Give up the Maze Master; let him rest in peace. After all; he's only a character."

A whole slew of emotions traveled through the Maze Master's face at that moment. First was sorrow, then confusion, and then a brief moment of angry comprehension. When resignation finally settled on his features, Artie relaxed ever so slightly. The Maze Master was coming to his senses. But then, things took a twist that Artie didn't see coming.

"You want the part, don't you?" cried the Maze Master. "You want me to let it go so that you can have it! Well, not on your life!" With that, the Maze Master raised his saber and charged towards Artie. "ARTIE, DUCK!" shouted Jim. Automatically, Artie collapsed to the ground, and the Maze Master tripped over his prone figure. Slack! The sword ran through the Maze Master's body, and the Maze Master looked at Artie in surprise. "That's not how heroes kill people," slurred the Maze Master. Then, he closed his eyes, sighed, and moved no more.

As for Artie, Jim was noticing that he hadn't gotten up. Slowly but surely, Jim picked the lock to his cage door, and as soon as it sprang open he leapt out and ran towards Artie. "Artie? Artie, are you okay? Can you hear me pal?"

Artie groaned miserably, then looked up at Jim with a barely conscious stare. "Look, Morning Rock," Artie wheezed, "He found his friend." With that, Artie slumped forward, and Jim set to the task of getting his friend patched up.

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It would take about two weeks for Artie to recover in the Maze Master's house before he was fit for any sort of travel. Artie insisted on burying Caleb the Maze Master himself; a task that he was hardly fit to stand for and one which set off his lungs. During that time, Morning Rock came to help (she said the river told her where Artie had gone; 'he left a trail of debris in his wake'), and she stuffed Artie full of herbs that strengthened and healed him.

"Look at this crazy man!" she sighed. "He comes all this way to get you, but can't even walk out under his own power!"

"Yep," Jim smiled fondly, "That's Artie for you."

Morning Rock eyed Jim up and down and frowned even deeper. "There will be more troubles for you in the future; you are both crazy men." But then Morning Rock's eyes softened. "I have friends like you," she smiled. "They hunt together always, and they have become the best warriors in the tribe. I'm sure you two will become fine warriors of your government as well."

Jim grinned. "We already are fine warriors," he stated proudly.

Morning Rock looked at him in disdain. "Sure you are," she sighed. "You are a great warrior that cannot even get out of a rusty old cage." With that, Morning Rock hit the cage lock with her pestle, and the lock broke under the weight of the stone. James West blushed and decided to leave well enough alone. The last thing he needed to do was start a battle. Besides, if he was going to be confined to the house for a few more days, he wanted to be on Morning Rock's good side.

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"The train has never looked so good," said Artie as he slumped down onto the settee. Jim hung up his coat and hat and sat down across from Artie. He still looked a little pale, and the bruises were fading, but Jim knew that the biggest bruise would be much harder to heal. "Are you sure you're okay?" Jim asked.

Artie looked at Jim and sighed. "Jim, I'm fine, okay! You don't have to be a mother hen."

Jim looked down at his boots until he heard Artie sigh apologetically. "Sorry, Jim," Artie mumbled. "It's just...if I had said anything different, if I had used my words in any other order...I wonder if I could have helped him. I just felt so...useless in there."

Jim shook his head, his respect for his partner growing even more when he saw the pain that the Maze Master had caused him. "Artie, Caleb...the Maze Master was so far gone he didn't even go by his real name. He captured me so that he could make you run the gauntlet of his crazy canyon, and he planned everything out so well that even nature was on his side. Artie, I don't think that the Maze Master even wanted you to survive to come 'rescue' me. I think he had always wanted to kill you, but he didn't want to face you. Because then he would remember, and his whole imaginary world would come falling down. Artie, he chose in the end to become the Maze Master. He didn't have to make that choice, but he did. There is nothing you could have done about it."

Artie nodded, the painful truth still lying heavy on his heart. He sighed softly; Jim was right. He usually was. There was nothing for Artie now to do but lie back, get some rest, and let Caleb leave his thoughts forever.

"I guess I was hoping for just a little too much," Artie sighed sadly. Jim looked up at Artie, and gave a coy grin. "James, what are you up to?" asked Artie.

Jim smiled. "Well, when I told Colonel Richmond that you'd need at least two more weeks for recovery before even returning to light duty, he suggested that we take a little vacation. How does Maryville Missouri sound?"

"What's in Maryville?" asked Artie curiously.

"Oh, nothing much. Just a nice quiet town, good, southern cooking, and...oh yeah, a Miss Lily Fortune and her newest traveling play, _The Lady of Glade-Shadow_. I thought you wouldn't want to miss it!"

_**Finis **_


End file.
